Parking in this city is a bitch. Two hour parking in residential areas means that when I don't get called into work, I have to move my car throughout the day. Usually, I have no problem with that and gladly drive around, wasting gas until I can find a free spot to hold me over for another two hours.
Today, I was ill. I didn't wake up until 10:20, and didn't get outside to move my car until closer to 11. I realized that I was flirting with a ticket, so I booked it.
Seeing the piece of paper on my windshield, I was crestfallen. "A ticket," I thought, "but I'm an underemployed young woman, and it's so close to Christmas."
As I neared the car, I saw that it wasn't a ticket, but a piece of folded paper! "A Christmas miracle!" I thought. Until I read it.
Thanks for reporting my license plate number to parking enforcement for exceeding the two hour time limit, "residents of Victoria St." That's real nice and neighbourly of you. I'm sorry my car offends you so much, and I'm sorry that you have such black, shriveled-up hearts.
Merry F*cking Christmas. —Nobody Likes A Narc